The Best Kind of Kiss
by BlueSuedeShoes
Summary: SPOILERS FOR WARRIOR: Another episode continuation.


**Author's Comment: WARNING! Spoilers for the episode Warrior (in case you haven't seen it, stop whatever you are doing, and go watch it.) This is another episode continuation, not unlike my piece A New Direction.**

**Did you hear that? That was the sound of millions of Chlollie fangirls the world over screaming in delight as the episode of Smallville ended.**

**And I, I am their leader. lol**

**This doesn't need a lot of explanation. It is what it is.**

* * *

If he was being honest with himself, Oliver had been avoiding Chloe all day. He'd heard about Steven Swift the boy-wonder supposedly sweeping Chloe off her feet, and well, he'd been irritated. He wasn't going to admit to himself that he'd been jealous, but deep down he knew not admitting it was not because it wasn't true, but because he was too proud and never pursued a woman unless it was a sure thing.

Chloe had never been a sure thing. In fact, she was the farthest thing from it he'd ever encountered.

So hearing about some spandex-clad creep coming to her rescue definitely hit a nerve. The one thought in the back of his mind the entire day was that he had saved her life countless times. What did the caped jerk have that he didn't?

Of course, finding out that Steven Swift was actually a twelve year old under a Zatanna hex...well, he felt an immediate surge of relief followed by a much more pressing sense of guilt. In the long run, even if he _had_ been jealous, all he really wanted was to see Chloe happy for once, being appreciated and feeling wanted, things she didn't get nearly as often as she deserved. After all she'd been through it seemed poetically unjust that the first guy she really gave a second thought to since her late husband would turn out to be a little kid. Wasn't she ever going to catch a break? Wasn't she ever going to find a man who could handle someone like her instead of the fool boys she seemed to draw to her?

When the night turned out to be a slow one, and he turned out to be unfocused regardless, he headed back to the Tower for a little target practice, maybe a drink or two, to vent some frustration and try to find some center again.

And then she showed up, and he had to struggle not to catch his breath. It was one thing just being around Chloe. He could handle that, could keep his cool and not let on how he felt about her. It was when she showed up unexpectedly that it threw him and he had to work to keep composure. It didn't help how beautiful she looked that evening, even with the exhausted, defeated expression on her face. Again he felt guilty for his relief that things hadn't worked out between her and the caped kid, but he just couldn't be sorry.

He wasn't really sure how it happened, that their conversation took such an immediate turn from small talk to him dramatically hinting about what was right in front of her face, but it did. It just happened. Naturally, uncontrived, unplanned, without manipulation, it happened, and all of a sudden he had her right where he'd wanted her for the longest time: in his arms. He whispered in her ear, admiring the calm serenity she maintained, even though he knew she was nervous. When he placed his fingers over hers, it was like he could feel their pulses merging, suddenly in perfect sync with each other, that in itself telling her to let go, as though to demonstrate what he was saying to her.

_Come on, Chloe, let your guard down. Forget about all the things that have happened to you. Just be here, in the moment. With me. _

And she released the arrow, which, thanks to his guiding her aim, struck the bull's eye, right on target.

Maybe they were finally right on target, too. He didn't move away from her as she lowered the bow, the smallest trace of a satisfied smile on her face. He kept his arms resting gently over hers, his fingers still touching hers. His face didn't move away from her hair, and his lips didn't move away from her ear. But he didn't force it either. He had no firm hold on her, and if she wanted to, she could easily move away from him according to her own desires, without even noticing what had happened, if that were the case. If nothing were what she wanted.

But Chloe didn't pull away. Instead she turned slowly, looking up at him. She didn't say anything, didn't frown at him or smile, didn't study him or look at him questioningly or expectantly. She just looked at him, like she always had, like she was really seeing him, and he couldn't help but be reminded how she was the only one who ever looked at him that way, the only one who ever saw him exactly as he was, not a billionaire or a playboy or a CEO or even the Green Arrow, just him, Ollie, the man.

And suddenly he had a feeling that to her, "Ollie" was a hero.

Those big green eyes were still resting on him, still looking at him, as though she were simply passing the time, waiting for him to say something or do something, and Oliver just couldn't think of anything to say. All he knew was that slowly, without either of them really being aware of it, the distance between them was closing. His hand went to her arm, maybe afraid she might vanish in a puff of smoke. The other one went to lift her chin slightly and then her eyes finally closed and he knew she'd finally let go. Tilting his head down the necessary distance his lips touched hers softly and he thought his heart had stopped beating all together until he felt her kiss him back, returning the same tender caress as the bow fell from her hand to the floor, allowing her hands to slide up around his neck, into his hair, telling him wordlessly not to stop, not to let go, not to leave like all the others had done before him.

In retrospect, Oliver wondered vaguely what had been so special about that one kiss. It had been different and infinitely better than any experience he had ever had with another woman in his entire life. Chloe had been the one to explain it to him when he finally voiced his awe over that one moment together.

She laughed lightly and smiled knowingly at him. "Everyone always thinks the most passionate kisses are the all-over-the-place ones. The ones where your hands and mouths are everywhere and you can hardly breath properly and you're basically ravaging each other, but," her smiled grew slightly, "it's not true. Think about all the energy and all the emotion and want and feeling packed into a kiss like that and then restrain it and give it only one tiny outlet: lips pressed against lips. Now that's the kind of kiss you feel right down to your toes."

She demonstrated, rising onto her tiptoes to kiss him, pressing her lips firmly against his as his hands went to her sides to steady her.

Then she pulled away, eyes on his, giving him _that_ look, leaving him breathless, so that all he could say, was "Oh," before deciding he needed a second demonstration and pulling her back to him.


End file.
